Out of the Woods
by Pied Piper
Summary: Mimi is insufferable when she's sick. [Oneshot]


**Summary:** Unsurprisingly, Mimi is even more insufferable when she's sick.

**Note:** Some graphic depictions of preparing meat-based foods, as well as mild innuendo, follows, so please be careful.

* * *

_Remember when you hit the brakes too soon_

_Twenty stitches in a hospital room_

_When you started crying, baby, I did too_

_But when the sun came up I was looking at you_

("Out of the Woods" by Taylor Swift)

* * *

"Kou, I'm sick."

He opens a new tab, and waits. "With what?"

"My nose is all stuffed up and my throat itches. My head hurts, like, all around the back of my head, near my neck, you know? One of my ear hurts more than the other, but that might just be because I've been lying down on that side. My eyes are tired, and I feel like someone's pinching the bridge of my nose."

"Are you dizzy?"

"I was before I lay down, but when I sat up to get my phone to call you the whole room spun. I felt _so _sick—,"

"Nauseous?"

"I haven't been able to keep anything down but some lemon tea. I try to eat, but just the thought of—,"

"When was the first date of your last period?"

She stops, clear-headed. "Are you seriously just Googling my symptoms?"

"It says you're either having cramps or a brain hemorrhage. Or it could be a cluster headache. You could be anemic. If you won't let me rule out pregnancy, then I suppose we have to also consider if it's general fatigue. It could be an acute ear infection, depending on which ear, and how strong your neck pain is. Maybe an aneurysm, or the first sign of—,"

"Kou, I'm sick of listening to this."

"I understand."

* * *

"Catherine, I'm sick."

"Yeah, I know. Koushiro says you're pregnant."

* * *

"Willis, I'm sick and all your friends keep telling everyone I'm pregnant!"

"My friends are your friends, that's part of the pact with the devil we both made, remember?"

She falls back against the headboard, rubbing her forehead. "I. Am. Not. Pregnant."

He laughs, "Why else do you think you're sick then?"

"My head hurts. My neck hurts. My throat hurts—,"

"Lemon tea?"

"I've had too much already."

"Honey—,"

"I'm out—,"

"No, _honey_, I was saying, then, you should probably just eat something."

"There's nothing in the fridge. And my body aches too much to make anything, anyway."

Willis shrugs off the problem, as though she could see his nonchalant dismissal over the phone. "That's why NASA invented microwavable food."

* * *

"Because, Michael, I'm sick."

"I'm sorry, I still don't understand why that means you had to use my account on the delivery app?"

"You were still logged into my phone. Also, why have you been ordering ramen takeaway every night for the past week and a half? Does Daisuke know you're not going to his joint?"

"No, and if you tell him, Mimi, I'll change my app password." She scoffs, which only makes her throat more itchy. Wincing, she curls back down into her pillow. He hears everything. "You actually don't sound all that great."

"Would I lie about this?"

"You have. Multiple times."

Scandalized by such an outrageous claim, she dares him, "Name _one_."

"My birthday party."

"I'm sorry, I'm getting another call."

* * *

"Miyako, I'm sick."

"Oh, baby, I know, I heard! You sound miserable! Are you miserable? Oh, this is terrible!"

Mimi sighs to herself, relieved to finally be receiving the panicstricken fixation over her problems that she deserves. "Extremely. Everything hurts. My _hurts _hurt."

"I feel so bad I can't be there for you. But if you ring my sister at the store, she could probably courier you some cough suppressants? Or at least one of the fast-acting tablets so you can sleep."

"All I've been doing is sleeping, I can't sleep anymore! I'm tired and I can't focus, and everything's blurring up."

"Oh, no, I feel so, so bad. This is terrible. And you have no idea what it is?"

"I thought it was an early sign of the flu, but I've just had my shot two weeks ago."

"Oh, good—they say you should definitely be sure to get the flu shot no matter the stage of pregnancy."

"I'm going to kill Koushiro."

* * *

"Daisuke, I'm sooooooo sick. I can't move a finger. Can you please bring me some ramen broth after your shift?"

"Girl, I got you. Imma brew this batch for you _myself_. I'm going out right now to find a pig and kill it, just, like, decimate it, right? The cutest one I can find, just for you, babe. The ones you like the most always taste the best, _amirite_? Ha! And then, once the neck's cut, we're going to hang it up in the back of the kitchen, drain it, and get to work on cutting down to the knuckle and neck bones, boil them up with just one trotter, otherwise it gets too fatty. Meanwhile I'll kill the chicken, get those bones sawed dow—Mimi, where'd you go? Hello?"

* * *

"Iori, I thought I was sick before, but I'm definitely sick now."

He's sympathetic. "It's best not to talk to Daisuke on meat delivery day. I usually make it a point to avoid him entirely until his high from it is over." He reflects, soberly, "It can take up to three days, depending on how cute the pig was."

She shudders, though that might also be from the fever she's now convinced she's since developed. "Should I become a vegetarian? Is it quite hard for you?"

"You should do what you need to regain your health."

"I think I just lost all my appetite."

The answer suddenly becomes so obvious. "Prune juice?"

"Oh, honey...no."

* * *

"Meiko, I'm sick."

"Oh, no, I hope I didn't give it to you?"

"No, no, I think it's recent. I thought I was just under a lot of stress from work and travel, but when I woke up this morning, I just felt so icky."

She makes a tuttering sound, soothing, "Do you need anything? Should I come over?"

"Oh, I wouldn't want to put you out…."

"It's no trouble at all, I promise. What do you need?"

"I mean, if you insist…?"

"Yes, anything! Let me help."

"Okay, _if _you insist, I sent you my errands list by email. It should be pretty straightforward."

"Of course, no problem at—oh. Oh, well, um—this, this is quite a long list, Mimi."

"I knew it would be too much to ask—,"

"No, no! It isn't! I—I'm sure I can get to all this. I know I can. I'll just leave work a bit early, and borrow my dad's car..." and she trails off in thought.

Mimi clears her throat, a difficult endeavor meant to communicate, above all else, her incredibly dire straits. "Okay, well, but the confectionary story really will close in about an hour so you're going to want to buck up a bit on pace, there. Okay, okay, thank you, you're the best!"

* * *

"Mimi, I just got Koushiro's email and wanted to check up on you. Are you okay? I didn't wake you up or anything, did I?"

"Oh, Ken, no, no, I'm awake. But, God—I'll kill him! How have we not figured out how to cut off his Internet once in a while? Wasn't that the plan after he got carpal tunnel last year?"

"I feel it's pretty moot at this point; he doesn't seem like the type not to have thought out several back up steps."

"Even so…."

"So then, you're not—,"

"No, I'm not."

"Oh."

"What?"

"It's just—you do sort of sound a bit nasally? Is it allergies?"

"No, no, I am sick. I'm just not—never mind. Thanks for calling, Ken."

"Do you need anything? Tablets, juices?"

"I'm good, Meiko's bringing me some stuff I need later."

"All right. But if you change your mind—,"

"Don't worry. I'll have Koushiro email you."

* * *

"Takeru, I'm sick. Can I please use your delivery account? Michael changed his password after I told Daisuke about his secret ramen supplier."

"Yeah, why would you tell him that? He's devastated."

"He wouldn't stop sending me pictures of piggies! I couldn't think of anything else to distract him with, _because I'm sick_! My mind is compromised, and I will not be held accountable for my actions."

"Oh, my God. You do know you can mute incoming texts, right?"

"...do you mute mine?"

"I will neither confirm nor deny—,"

"Takaishi!"

"Honestly, love, you send a lot of emojis."

"They express inner states that which mere words can only—,"

"Right, that's fine, but maybe some inners are meant to stay there."

She snorts, and it stings her scratchy throat. Rubbing her chest to help the breathing come easier, she remarks instead, "Why really won't you let me use your delivery account?"

"I don't have it anymore, and I can't remember the passwords even if I did."

"What, really? What happened?"

"Oh, after the night of the salmonella toots, Yamato deleted the app from my phone. You know how he is about takeaway. Us hurling our guts out over a bad order was the nail in the coffin that was my dalliance with fast food."

"He's such a little dictator."

"Mm, but we love him for it, don't we?"

"I mean, I love freedom, too."

"Eh. Can't complain, really. Between him, Hikari, Daisuke, Sora, and you, my meals are pretty much set. I've even got Iori's mom making me bread a couple times a month."

She giggles, despite how much the laughter makes her chest ache, "You should probably be less openly joyful about your moochiness."

"Hate the game, not the player."

* * *

"Hikari, I'm sick."

"I heard! What an awful way to have to spend the weekend."

"It is! Thank you. No one believes me."

"Why would they not believe you?"

"I know!"

"As though you'd have anything to gain from being cooped up in that old studio all alone."

"Exactly!"

"On this weekend of all weekends."

"Right—,"

"Without any company."

"I mean—,"

"Especially now that you can't have people over, either."

"Well—,"

"Or else they might get sick, too."

"Um—,"

"And you wouldn't want to do something like that, would you?" Mimi can't think of anything else to say, dumbfounded by such steady building of impenetrable logic, and Hikari suppresses a guilty giggle. "You'll be just fine. Stay in bed, drink plenty of fluids, try and see if you can get some solid food in when you can. He'll be back home soon."

* * *

"Sora, I'm sick."

"And yet apparently not too sick to send poor Meiko running all over town with your list of 'errands', is it?"

"She _volunteered_—,"

"Mimi."

"Oh, all right, I'll tell her to stop…."

"Good. Have you eaten lunch yet?"

"I told you, I'm sick. I can't eat. I can't sleep. I can't do errands—,"

"Mimi."

"_Well, I can't_!"

"I'll be over after work to check on you, and don't think we're not going to talk about this behavior when I'm there."

"I can't believe you'd treat me like this on my deathbed."

"You're not dying, Mimi. You just have a cold. Or, worst case, the flu."

"The flu is actually very dangerous, Sor."

"Mm, yes, especially in your condition, is it?"

"I'm going to kill him dead."

* * *

"Yamato, I'm sick."

"No, you're not."

"You don't know my mind!"

"I do, actually, including how that just tells me this _is _all in your mind."

She closes her mouth, stubborn.

"You're not sick, Mimi."

Silence.

"You're _not_. This is just what you do. You're lonely and you're bored, that's it."

The silence draws.

"You're _not _sick, and I'm _not _coming over."

Mimi opens her mouth to decry his willful meanness with as much scorn as her weakened state can muster, only to have a loud and prolonged, breathy and snot-ridden cough escape her lungs instead. She can think of no greater evidence of divine retributive power than the silence on the other end of the telephone line in that one glorious beat. She smugly sniffs into the back of her hand, nose red.

"_Fine_. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

* * *

"See, Jou, I _am _sick."

He puts his hand to her forehead, while Yamato starts inspecting the contents of her fridge, and Sora closes the small studio's solitary window. "You do feel a bit warm."

She leans to glare at the pair in turn, sticking out her tongue in victory, and then coughs. This one, to her own surprise, rattles her chest, sending chills throughout. She rubs her face with her clammy palms. "I told you all, and now look what's happened."

"Nothing's happened," says Yamato.

"Except that you've been sitting here with an open, drafty window all week," adds Sora.

"And the heat's busted," confirms Jou, tapping a doubtful finger to the display screen of the thermostat.

"You've only been eating takeout," concludes Yamato, having opened the trashcan to throw out some of the more expired food containers, and noticing how full the bin is with styrofoam and plastic wrapping.

"Where are all your extra comforters?" asks Sora, pulling out the storage bins from under the bed.

"Or your humidifier?" Now, Jou starts to panic. "Do you not own one? After all that time I spent researching them for you?"

At this she recovers her voice, and forces her way back into control of the conversation. "You sent me a fifty-page email, Jou! Without a single picture in it!"

"It had _several _diagrams, for one, and we could have avoided all this if you had simply prepared better for the season."

She pouts, flopping back onto her side on the mattress. "In what way is scolding me meant to make me feel better?"

He takes the blanket Sora extracts from a storage cubby and unfurls it over her, spreading it over her shoulders first. "In the way that it really just makes us feel better."

"I knew it," Mimi mutters, made more comfortable by the sudden warmth of the additional afghan, though she'd never dare say this aloud to any of them, lest it admit more fault than she's willing to admit she's even capable of.

Jou smoothes the blanket over her. "Yamato's making some soup, Sora's going to disinfect the place, and I'm going to go get some medicine from the pharmacy. Do you need anything else?"

She peeks out of one eye, surveying the three of them, each lost to their own task in this effort to tend and to care. She closes her eyes, curling up under the blankets. "No. I don't need anything else."

* * *

"I heard you're sick."

Her breath is raspy, head clouded over in a dream. The room is still dark in the wee early hours, and his hand feels so warm against her bare ankle he's rubbing, sitting on the edge of her bed, and she doesn't want to wake up. "Where'd you hear that?"

"Here and there," Taichi chuckles. "There's also this really weird email going around…."

Mimi yawns, "Surprise."

"What a welcome home, this is."

"Don't go away so long again."

"Or what? You'll will yourself into something worse than the flu, just to get me back here?"

She mumbles, smiling, "It worked this time, didn't it?"

He kisses her ankle. "You're too warm," he says, more to himself. "You really are sick."

There's a sigh, slow and withdrawn. Her energy's spent, and the fever is making her eyes swim. She closes them, concentrating on his voice instead. "I really am sick. What are you going to do about it?"

He gently coaxes her aside to slip into bed next to her, skin to skin. She can barely feel his weight, the delirium of her cold enveloping every sense she has left. All she knows is his scent, the hand at the back of her neck, cradling her head, and his lips on her forehead. "I'm gonna make you feel better."


End file.
